On Sunset Highways: A Book of Motor Rambles in California

by Thos. D. Murphy

The Indians were generally reduced to a mild state of peonage, but it seems that the padres' policy was one of kindness and very seldom was there rebellion against their rule on the part of converted Indians. The missions suffered, of course, from attacks by savages who refused to come under their sway, but the priests had few difficulties with the neophytes who worked under them. Taken altogether, there are few other instances where white men had so little trouble with Indians with whom they came in daily contact for a considerable period.

The priests not only looked after the religious instruction of their charges, but taught them to engage in agriculture and such arts and manufactures as were possible under the conditions that then existed. The chief occupation was farming and, considering the crude implements at their disposal, the mission Indians did remarkably well. The plough was composed of two wooden beams—one of them shod with iron; the soil was merely scratched and it was necessary to go over a field many times. A large bough, dragged over the soil to cover the seed, served as a harrow. The carts were primitive in the extreme—the heavy wheels were cut from a single block of solid oak and the axle and frame were of the same clumsy construction. Grain was harvested by hand-sickles and threshed on hard earth by driving oxen over the sheaves. Flour was ground by the women with pestles in stone mortars, though in a few cases rude water-wheels were used to turn grinding-stones.

Live stock constituted the greater part of the mission's wealth. Horses, cattle, and sheep were raised in large numbers, though these were probably not so numerous as some of the ancient chroniclers would have us believe. The Indians were exceedingly skillful in training horses and very adept in the use of the "riata," or lariat. They became efficient in caring for and herding cattle and sheep, a vocation which many of their descendants follow to-day. The mild climate made this task an easy one and the herds increased rapidly from year to year.

Vineyards were planted at most of the missions and the inventories at the time of secularization showed that the fathers kept a goodly stock of wines, though this was probably for their own consumption, the natives being regaled with sweetened vinegar-and-water, which was not intoxicating. The mission grape first developed by the padres is to-day one of the most esteemed varieties in California vineyards.

The missions were necessarily largely dependent on their own activities for such manufactured products as they required and, considering their limited facilities, they accomplished some wonderful results in this direction. Brick, tile, pottery, clothing, saddles, candles, blankets, furniture, and many other articles of daily necessity were made under the padres' tutelage and such trades as masonry, carpentry, blacksmithing, tanning, spinning, and weaving were readily acquired by the once ignorant and indolent Indians.

Under such industry and businesslike management, the mission properties in time became immensely valuable, at their zenith yielding a total revenue estimated at not less than two million dollars yearly. This prosperity was greedily watched by the Mexican government, which in its straits for funds conceived the idea of "secularization" of the missions, a plan which ultimately led to confiscation and dissolution. Shortly after this came the American conquest and the conditions were wholly unfavorable to the rehabilitation of the old regime, which speedily faded to a romantic memory. The once happy and industrious natives were driven back to the hills and their final extinction seems to be near at hand. The story of their hardship and desolation and the wrongs they suffered at the hands of the American conqueror forms the burden of Mrs. Jackson's pathetic story of "Ramona."

Justice may never be done to these bitterly wronged people—indeed, most of them have passed beyond reach of human justice; but of later years there has come a deeper realization of the importance of the work of the California missionary and a greater interest in the crumbling relics of his pious activities. It has awakened a little late, you may say, but the old adage, "Better late than never," is doubly applicable here. We who have traversed the length and breadth of Britain have seen how lovingly nearly every ancient abbey and castle is now guarded—though in many cases it was painfully apparent that the spirit was too long in coming. Many a noble pile had nearly vanished from neglect and vandalism ere an enlightened public sentiment was created to guard and preserve its scanty remnants. And I fear that this sentiment was more the result of selfish interest than of any high conception of altruistic duty—the strangers who came to see these ancient monuments and left money behind them probably did more to awaken Britons to the value and importance of their storied ruins than any strong sense of appreciation on their own part. California should be moved by a higher motive than mere gain to properly care for and preserve her historic shrines. They represent the beginning of her present civilization and enlightenment, which has placed her in the forefront of the states. Her history, literature, and architecture have been profoundly affected by the Franciscan missions and their great influence in this direction is yet to come. They should be restored and preserved at public cost, even though they continue in charge of the Catholic Church. Their claims as historic monuments far outweigh any prejudice that may exist against contributing to any secular institutions and if the Catholic Church is willing to occupy and guard them, so much the better. It insures that they will be kept open to the public at all times and that visitors will be gladly received and hospitably treated. In all our journey along the King's Highway we experienced nothing but the utmost courtesy and kindness from the Catholic priests who may now be found at many of the missions. The padre acts as custodian and guide and can always tell you the story of the mission in his charge. These men have already done much to restore several of the missions and to reclaim them from complete destruction. The church is struggling to carry this work still farther, but she has not the means at her disposal to accomplish it before some of the landmarks will have entirely vanished. And I may say here that although not a Catholic myself, I believe that the Catholics deserve commendation and assistance in this great work.

And if California is not influenced by the higher consideration we have enumerated, selfish reasons are strong for the preservation of the missions. Already they are proving an attraction to a great number of discerning tourists and with the increasing prevalence of the motor car, El Camino Real will become one of the most popular routes in the world. People will bring their cars from the Eastern States—instead of taking them to Europe—and will pass their vacations in California. They will spend money freely and many will become enamored of the country to the extent of becoming permanent residents. The missions are one of the greatest attractions to bring the tourist class to California—she can not afford to allow them to disappear. They form a valuable asset in more ways than one and now is the time to awaken to the fact.

Perhaps I have lingered too long on this subject, but it seems to me like a necessary preface to a trip over the King's Highway. We left San Diego in the late afternoon and reached the beautiful suburb of La Jolla just as the declining sun was flooding the broad expanse of the ocean with golden glory. The town is situated on a promontory beneath which there is a lovely little park and one can enter several caves from the ocean which, under favorable conditions, are almost as beautiful as the Blue Grotto of Capri. Here is a favorite resort of artists and a permanent colony has been established, the vicinity affording never-ending themes for their skill. One of these is to be seen a few miles farther on the road—the group of Torrey pines on a headland overlooking the sea. Here is the only spot on this continent where these weird but beautiful trees are to be found, and our illustration gives some idea of their picturesque outlines against the sky. They were named for one of our earliest naturalists, John Torrey, who was the first to describe them in a scientific way. The few wind-swept patriarchs of this rare tribe straggle over the bold headland or crouch on its edges in fantastic attitudes. At this point the road leaves the cliff which it has traversed for several miles and descends by a long winding grade to the seashore. There is a fairly steep pitch just at the top, but for most of the descent the gradient is easy, though sharp turns and blind corners make careful driving necessary.